


Mustard Seed

by mrs_d



Category: due South
Genre: (aka my favourite episode fight me), (kind of), Episode Related, F/M, Future Fic, How Do I Tag, I tripped and wrote 6000 words of due south side characters, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaking, S4 E10 Say Amen, Weddings, it could happen to anyone okay?, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Eloise teams up with Vecchio to get Fraser and Kowalski back together in time for her wedding.





	Mustard Seed

**Author's Note:**

> _“Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matthew 17:20)_

Eloise Barrow, soon-to-be Eloise Abelard, is sitting in the lobby of a police station in the Northwest Territories, hoping for a miracle.

When she said she was going, Davey told her she was crazy, but he said it with that look in his eye that he’d been giving her since they were teenagers, the one that said that he knew she’d made up her mind, and that he’d support her no matter what. It’s a look that’s gotten her through a lot.

It’s been ten years since her parents were arrested, and in that time, Eloise has heard it all. When she moved into Davey’s aunt’s house halfway through the trial, the media had a fit, spewing headlines about The Scandalous Affairs of the Preacher’s Daughter. Everyone, it seemed, had an opinion. Eloise and Davey were deemed too young to live together, and rumors swirled about her being pregnant. Paparazzi snapped photos of her slouched over and called it a baby bump; they published pictures of Davey shaking hands with his cousin and called it a drug deal.

Once the trial was settled and her parents had been put away for a long, long time, the newspapers found someone else to talk about, and Eloise tried to move on, too. She got her high school diploma, went to therapy, did some research and found her blood relatives, the Davenports. She used what little money she had to fly down South to meet them, but she didn’t stay long. They were strangers, and they treated her like one, too, acting like she was some intrusive Northerner. They also didn’t seem very fond of Davey, exchanging dark looks when she showed them pictures, and it felt like being around the preacher and his wife again. So she took an early flight back to Chicago, to her life, to Davey.  

Their apartment is the cheapest they could find, a tiny place above a drycleaner. It’s cramped, but it’s theirs, and Eloise loves it. Davey’s been promoted to a management position in the shipping company where he’s worked for years, Eloise found a job at an animal shelter, and she’s been taking night classes to become a certified veterinary technician. They’ve lived in that crappy little apartment for almost a decade now, pinching every penny to save up for a down payment on a house, and now that they have that, they’re finally tying the knot.

Or they will, just as soon as she can get these last two invitations delivered.

She started this journey at the 27th precinct of the Chicago Police Department. It was strange to be back there — the building was smaller than she remembered. Nobody recognized her, and she didn’t recognize anyone, either. Even the girl at the front desk was different — not that nice woman with the short curly hair who talked about things that Eloise didn’t come to understand until a long time later. The new woman, and everyone Eloise spoke to, seemed suspicious. Especially when she said she wanted to talk to Detective Vecchio about an old case.

Eloise was ushered into an interrogation room on the third floor and told to wait. When a bald man with a big nose entered the room and introduced himself as Ray Vecchio, Eloise thought she’d lost her mind. Her parents’ arrest had been a difficult time for her, but she didn’t think her memories of Detective Vecchio — a thin, energetic man with spiky blonde hair — were that wrong.

“Um,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry?”

“You told the desk sergeant you wanted to see Ray Vecchio, right?” the bald man said. What little hair he had around his ears was almost completely white, but his eyes were sharp. “Well, that’s me.”

“Right,” said Eloise, playing along even though there was no way that this was the same man.

The bald man sat down across from her at the table. “You said you had information on an old case I worked?”

“Well, not exactly,” Eloise stammered. “I just wanted to get in touch with the detective on my parents’ case, to— it’s stupid,” she finished, gathering up her purse and preparing to get to her feet. “Never mind. Obviously, I got the detective’s name wrong.”

“No, no, wait a minute,” the bald man said. There was something in his voice that made her stop, lower herself back into her chair. “Tell me who you are, maybe it’ll ring a bell. How long ago are we talking?”

“Eloise Barrow.” She hesitated. “It was 1998,” she added, and the bald man raised his eyebrows.

“That’d be why I don’t remember you,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You’re looking for the Mountie, aren’t you?” the man asked, changing directions abruptly. “Benton Fraser?”

“I— I guess,” Eloise answered. “I was hoping—”

“Okay,” said the man, pulling a card and a pen from the inside pocket of his expensive-looking suit jacket. “Here’s the phone number for the detachment where he’s stationed right now. I’m not allowed to say anything about this, but he can. He doesn’t work here anymore.” The bald man winked. “And, besides, everybody knows Mounties can’t lie.”

“I don’t understand,” said Eloise, getting to her feet when he did.

“Just call Fraser,” said the bald man. He opened the door and signaled for her to go ahead of him. “He’ll explain everything. You have a nice day now.”

And she found herself being escorted back down to the front doors in no time.

With no other options, she called the number that the bald man gave her, but nobody at the detachment seemed willing or able to connect her to Fraser directly. She left a handful of messages, and no one called her back. Thinking that it would help, she explained that she was calling about an old case from Chicago, but if anything the Mounties seemed less cooperative after they heard that.

“It’s really better if you can reach him in person,” said one constable finally. She sounded young and sympathetic. Eloise wondered if she was new and therefore less jaded than the others. “He covers a pretty wide territory, and he only checks in with us about once a month. He’ll be here next Friday, if that helps.”

Eloise glanced at the wall calendar. Next weekend was her weekend off, and she still had a few sick days that she hadn’t taken yet this year. She licked her lips, thought about the tidy little honeymoon sum that she and Davey had accumulated in their account.

And maybe some small part of her is still connected to the Almighty, because she felt called.

“Book me an appointment,” she said.

“But I thought you were calling from—”

“He’ll want to see me,” Eloise said, not sure if she was reassuring the constable or herself. “Just tell him that Eloise Barrow is coming up from Chicago.”

“I will. If I see him,” the constable added doubtfully.

“Are you sure he’s worth all this?” Davey asked that night, when Eloise booked her flights. “He might not even remember you. The other guy didn’t.”

“That wasn’t the same guy,” Eloise explained, again. Davey thought she was just misremembering, but Davey didn’t see him. “And he is worth it. I want him to be there, he’s the reason we’re together, Davey.”

“You’re the reason we’re together,” said Davey, sappy and sweet.

Eloise loves him, she loves him so much.

So she boarded a plane, stayed one night in Calgary, and then boarded another one. Now it’s Friday, and she’s waiting for her appointment with the Mountie.

It’s funny, she thinks, smiling placidly at the police officers as they come and go. In Chicago, Fraser was just The Mountie — she never actually learned Fraser’s full name until her parents’ trial. There was no need; everybody knew the Mountie (and his dog). But here... everyone in this room is a Mountie, and none of them seem happy to see her. The officer at the front desk — who’s older, definitely not the woman Eloise talked to last week — keeps sending her suspicious glances over the monitor of her computer.

Eloise doesn’t mind. She’s happy to wait. The problem is that no one seems to know how long Fraser will be. So here she sits, with her luggage at her feet, a gilded envelope hiding in its outer pocket.

The afternoon is wearing on — it’s almost evening — and Eloise is nearly finished the cheesy romance novel she picked up in the Calgary airport, when the station door opens, letting in a blast of cold air.

“Tina,” says the man who’s just stepped inside. He’s got two surly-looking guys with him, handcuffed together. “Can you put these men in holding, please? I’ll be back to process them in just a moment.”

“Of course,” says the officer at the desk — Tina, apparently. She hops out of her seat at once, her face transformed by a bright smile. “How are you, Sergeant?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” says the Mountie. His voice sounds familiar, but Eloise can’t see his face. “And you?”

“Just great,” Tina replies. She sounds star-struck. “I’m great.”

There’s a beat of silence. She doesn’t move. “Tina?” says the Mountie uncertainly.

“Yes, Sergeant Fraser?”

Eloise sits up straighter at the name. “The suspects?” Fraser prompts.

“Oh, right, sorry!” Tina takes the men by their shoulders and leads them around the desk, through a door that closes behind her with a solid-sounding click. She doesn’t say anything about Eloise and her appointment.

As Fraser turns to go, he catches sight of Eloise. “Has someone already helped you, miss?” he asks politely.

Eloise’s stomach plummets. “You don’t recognize me,” she says.

Fraser frowns. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Her heart in her throat, Eloise tells him her name. “The Unfettered Evangelical Church of the Holy Bible,” she adds, but she can tell he recognizes her now by the way he’s smiling. Relief runs through her like warm rain.

“Eloise,” he repeats. “My, oh my, it’s good to see you, but what on earth are you doing here?”

“Well...” Eloise pulls the envelope out of her luggage and hands it over. She practically quivers with anticipation while his eyes dart over the text, his smile growing even wider.

“Congratulations,” he exclaims, and, to her surprise, he hugs her. The outer surface of his parka is cool and damp, but she hugs him back, laughing in pure joy.

“So you’ll be there?” she asks, though she thinks — hopes — it’s an unnecessary question.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replies heartily, proving her right.

She grins. She can’t wait to tell Davey.

* * *

“Now, I’m afraid I can’t offer the most luxurious accommodations,” Fraser tells her later, opening the door to his cabin.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Eloise assures him. “It’s only one night.”

She’s given up on talking him out of it; she tried very hard, when they were passing through town earlier, to convince him that she could stay at the small bed and breakfast instead, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Now she’s being tackled by a grey and white husky as she steps inside, and she laughs when Fraser tries to call the dog off.

“It’s fine, he’s fine,” says Eloise. “What’s his name?”

“Her,” Fraser corrects her. “She’s called Mini.”

“Mini?” Eloise repeats, scratching the dog behind her ears. “But she’s huge!”

“She wasn’t always,” Fraser explains. He heads to the kitchen, and Mini follows. “Ray named her when she was still a puppy.”

“I see,” says Eloise. She hangs up her coat and sets her boots on the tray just inside the door. She thinks about asking about Dief, but she already knows the answer; he was an old dog when she knew him.

“About Ray,” she begins instead, but then she’s not sure what else to say.

“Oh, not that Ray,” says Fraser. He fills a bowl with kibble, and Mini starts chowing down. “Ray Vecchio.”

“Right,” Eloise says slowly, and waits. Fraser looks up, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m terribly sorry, I forgot.”

“Forgot...?”

“Ray Vecchio, the real Ray Vecchio,” Fraser says, with the air of someone revealing serious, hard-to-believe news. “You never met him.”

“Actually, I did,” says Eloise, and she explains about going to the 27th precinct, about getting the detachment phone number from the bald man.

Fraser makes her a cup of tea while she talks, and gestures for them to sit on the sofa. It’s soft, which is almost as much of a surprise as his hug in the police station. For some reason she’d been expecting everything about him to be cold and hard; she remembers him as kind but aloof, more prone to exposition than emotion. She wonders what he’s been through since they last saw one another.

He explains about the undercover assignment, how the Ray she met was actually another police officer using Ray Vecchio’s name — the whole thing sounds made-up to her, but if it works, it works, she supposes.

“So what’s his real name?” she asks after a few minutes. He still hasn’t told her. He was very undercover, she thinks, to have embedded himself in Fraser’s memory as _Ray._

“Ray,” he says finally. “Kowalski. Well, technically Stanley Kowalski, but he goes by Ray. It’s his middle name.”

Eloise blinks. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“Very.” Eloise thinks maybe he’s going to say more, but then he just nods and sips his tea.

“Do you have any way to get in touch with him? It’d mean a lot to Davey and me if he could be there,” she adds hopefully.

Fraser flinches at this. It’s almost too quick for her to see — his smile is back in a heartbeat, but it’s too wide to be real.

“He’s in Arizona, I believe,” he answers. “I don’t know if his phone number is the same, but I can give you the one I have. If it doesn’t work, then I suggest you ask Ray Vecchio if he knows of a more recent one.”

“Why—?” Eloise starts to ask, but something flickers in Fraser’s eyes, and she redirects the question. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “I’ll do just that.”

Fraser smiles again, dimmer and smaller this time. There’s an air of sadness to it, Eloise thinks.

But then Fraser brightens again. He asks about Davey, and they pass the rest of evening in pleasant conversation.

* * *

He drives her to the airport the next morning, Mini curled up on the backseat. Eloise watches the landscape flash by, wonders what it would be like to live up here, so isolated from everyone else, with all this cold and darkness. Fraser doesn’t seem to mind it, but maybe he’s just wired differently — he is Canadian, after all.

“Do you miss it?” she asks. “Chicago, I mean?”

Fraser glances over at her, considering. “Sometimes,” he says after a moment. “I miss the people.”

“Yeah, not a lot of those around here,” Eloise remarks with a smile.

“No,” Fraser agrees. He chuckles, but it sounds kind of hollow, and he doesn’t say anything else.

He hugs her again before she gets on the plane, telling her how much he’s looking forward to the wedding. When they pull apart, though, he looks pensive, and when she turns away, he stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“Eloise,” he says seriously. “Ray’s not...”

“Not what?” Eloise glances behind her, worries about missing the plane.

“He may not attend your wedding,” Fraser says. “Not once he knows I’ll be there.”

Eloise turns back in surprise. That was not what she was expecting.

“I just don’t want you to think that it’s personal, because it’s not,” Fraser adds quickly. “It’s nothing against you or Davey. I hope you won’t be hurt if he doesn’t attend.”

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t he want to come?” Eloise finally manages to ask.

Fraser gives her a small, sad smile. “I made a mistake,” he admits. “And I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.”

Eloise blinks. “What—”

“You’d better go,” Fraser says, before she can finish her question. “Keep in touch, you have my personal number now, and I’ll see you in a few months’ time.”

He nudges her towards the plane, and Eloise goes, half in a daze.

* * *

The phone number Fraser has for Ray Kowalski does not in fact work. Eloise thinks about just letting it go — having Fraser at the wedding ought to be good enough — but she feels that impetus in her gut again, that calling to see this through.

So a few days after she returns from the Territories, she heads back to the 27th precinct. She asks Davey if he wants to come with her, but he declines — and she can’t really blame him for that. He doesn’t have the fondest memories of the place.

The cops look even more suspicious this time around, but Ray Vecchio smiles when he walks back into the interrogation room.

“Got a hold of him, did you?” he asks. “And he told you the whole story?”

“Most of it,” says Eloise. “Now I’m trying to reach Detective Kowalski.”

“Fun,” says Vecchio, sinking into the chair across from her. “I think he’s down South somewhere. Nevada, maybe?”

“Sergeant Fraser thought maybe he was in Arizona,” Eloise hedges.

Vecchio nods. “He was, but then he got a job— New Mexico, that’s it,” he says, snapping his fingers. “He’s an insurance investigator, the poor bastard.”

“Do you know how to contact him?” asks Eloise.

“I do,” says Vecchio. He pulls his wallet out of his pants and starts flicking through the card sleeves. “Here it is,” he says. “Kowalski mailed me his card. God, that must’ve been a year ago now.”

“Thanks,” Eloise tells him, taking it.

“I thought maybe they’d have patched things up by now,” Vecchio goes on thoughtfully, putting his wallet away again. “Guess not, if Fraser doesn’t even know where he is.”

“He said Detective Kowalski might not come to the wedding if he knows he’ll be there,” Eloise volunteers, hoping that Vecchio will finish the story.

Vecchio grimaces. “I could see Kowalski pulling that,” he says, but that’s it.

The curiosity has been burning her up for days, so finally she comes right out and asks. “Do you know what happened between them? When I knew them, they seemed like such good friends.”

“I think maybe that’s exactly what happened,” says Vecchio cryptically. “Apparently they fought like cats and dogs when they first teamed up, then they got close, and then they were really close, and now— I don’t know. I’ve never heard  the whole story, because neither one of them likes to talk about it, even to me,” he sighs. “I just feel bad for you, getting caught in the crossfire. It’s not easy, staying friends with your friends when your friends break up.”

“Break up?” Eloise repeats, surprised. “That makes it sound like—”

There’s a slight freeze in Vecchio’s expression, like he knows he said too much. Then his face changes, his eyes harden into something like defiance.

“I know what it sounds like,” he says, like he’s daring her to have a problem with it.

Eloise blinks, and then she laughs. “Wow, that’s— that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Tell me about it,” Vecchio agrees, obviously relieved. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he hastens to add. “It doesn’t matter to me. I know there’s all these hang-ups about cops being macho and whatnot, but those two, they just clicked, and I’m of the opinion that when you click with somebody it doesn’t matter what’s between their legs.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” says Eloise. Vecchio’s eyebrows shoot up. “I know, I know,” she says with a small sigh. “You wanna talk hang-ups? I’m the daughter of an evangelical preacher, everyone expects me to be uptight about stuff like this. But if they’re happy....”

She trails off uncertainly, because it’s pretty clear that, romantic or not, Fraser and Kowalski aren’t happy. Not anymore. And now she’s going to invite them to her wedding, and even if they both come, they’ll probably be miserable. Eloise examines the card in her hand, tracing the letters with her thumb. She wonders....

“Don’t even think about it,” says Vecchio suddenly.

“What?” Eloise protests.

“You want to lie to him,” Vecchio accuses her. “You want to tell him Fraser’s not coming, get them both there, then play matchmaker, patch things up between them.”

“No, I don’t,” says Eloise. That wasn’t _exactly_ her plan....

“Well, I think it’s a terrible idea,” says Vecchio, folding his arms over his chest. “And I’m not letting you leave this room until you tell me you’re not gonna do it.”

“I’m not—”

“Not without my help,” Vecchio finishes.

A startled laugh bubbles up between Eloise’s lips. “What makes you think that we can—”

“I read your case file,” says Vecchio out of nowhere. “Don’t you believe in miracles anymore?”

Eloise shakes her head, baffled.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Vecchio sighs. Then he stretches out his hand. “Partners?”

Eloise looks into his earnest green eyes. _Faith,_ she thinks, wondering what the preacher would say if he could see her now. He’d be furious — about the “red-vested liar,” as he called Fraser during the trial, about his choice of partner, about her involvement in their relationship, and, best of all, that her involvement would center around her wedding to Davidson Abelard.

A grin has spread over her face. She so relishes the thought of pissing off the preacher.

She shakes Vecchio’s hand firmly. “Partners.”

Vecchio grins back and launches into his plan. She only realizes as she’s leaving the precinct later, that this means she’ll need another wedding invitation printed.

* * *

“You lost your accent,” Ray Kowalski says, once she’s convinced him that she is who she says she is. He’s as cool and detached as Eloise expected Fraser to be, but at least he answered the phone, so she didn’t need to fly to the other end of the continent again.

“I got rid of my accent,” she corrects him. “I didn’t like how it made me stick out. After everything that happened, it felt like people were staring at me enough.”

“I get that,” says Kowalski. He still sounds like pure Chicago, and she wonders how many funny looks he gets for that in the desert. “So what’s going on? Your parents didn’t get out, did they?”

“No,” Eloise reassures him. “No, everything’s fine that way.”

“They hire any new muscle?” he asks. “You need me to come up there and kick in some heads?”

Eloise laughs. That’s the man that she remembers — aggressively protective. It warms her up inside to know this hasn’t changed.

“No, no,” she says again. She draws in a breath and rushes through the announcement. “Davey and I are getting married.”

“Oh,” says Kowalski, the syllable full of quiet surprise. “Wow. Um, congrats.”

“Thanks,” Eloise says automatically. She hesitates, then adds the last and most important part. “We’d like to invite you to the wedding.”

“Oh, I—” Kowalski begins. “I don’t know, kiddo. I just started this new job, and—”

“Please?” Eloise prompts. She crosses her fingers as she tells what she hopes will be her only lie. “Constable Fraser already said he couldn’t make it, and it would mean so much to Davey and me if one of you could be there.”

Kowalski is silent for a long moment, and then he sighs. “I’ll think about it, okay?” he says finally. “Send me the invite, and I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Eloise agrees, grinning. “What’s the address?”

* * *

Vecchio is as good as his word, acting as a go-between for Fraser and Kowalski, keeping Eloise informed of new developments as they happen.

“Never thought I’d see the day, but I think Benny’s actually excited to come back to Chicago,” he phones her to say, when they’re a month out from the wedding. “He’s none the wiser about Stanley, but he gets all puppy-eyed when I talk about him.”

This makes something flutter in Eloise’s chest. It’s the same feeling she’d get when the church was quiet after hours, when she was praying and she was sure that God was listening.

“Stanley’s got his flight booked,” Vecchio reports two weeks later. “I nudged him into picking a hotel that’s far from my place so they won’t see each other.”

“Good thinking,” says Eloise. She hadn’t even thought of that.

“I think he’s kind of upset that Fraser won’t be there,” Vecchio adds contemplatively. “Go figure.”

Eloise’s cell phone rings a week before the big day, while she’s at the dress shop, trying her gown on one last time before she takes it home.

“Good God!” Vecchio exclaims on the other end. “Neither of these men know the first thing about style!”

She laughs — the seamstress was already scowling when she took the call, and she frowns now at the movement, but Eloise doesn’t care.

The dress fits like a dream. It’s simple, affordable, and beautiful — it’s perfect. Twirling in front of the mirror, it sinks in that she’s getting married in a week. The weight and stress of planning every detail falls away; she feels divine, more powerful than she ever did performing miracles. Because she may have been chosen to heal — though she’s still not certain about that — but this life is something she’s chosen for herself, and the steps she’s taken to achieve it are all her own. The joy is like energy moving through her, lighting her up from the inside.

She thinks that maybe that’s a miracle in its own way.

* * *

Her last day of work before the wedding is Wednesday, and she’s swamped. Thursday is the bachelor & bachelorette parties — low-key affairs that their friends insisted on. She has fun, but she feels like something’s missing. About halfway through, she realizes it’s Davey — she’s just not herself when he’s not there. Her best friend, Patti, teases Eloise when she tells her this, but when the group raises their glasses, Patti’s toast makes Eloise tear up.  

Friday, they sleep in — Davey took the day off, too, and they spend a leisurely morning just hanging out together, cooking breakfast in their PJs, sharing a pot of chocolate raspberry coffee and slow, sweet kisses.

In the afternoon things get a little busier, a little more real. Eloise has a manicure appointment; Davey is picking up his aunt and uncle at the airport. Eloise wonders about Fraser and Kowalski while the esthetician fixes her cuticles. She hasn’t heard from Vecchio in a while, but from now on he said he’d only contact her if there was an emergency; she trusts he’s got it handled.

There’s no rehearsal — it’s just a small ceremony at city hall tomorrow — but they have dinner with Davey’s relatives. Most of them Eloise has only met once; she spends a lot of the night worrying about making a good impression and trying not to spill food on herself.

It’s a relief to collapse into bed early, though she finds she can’t sleep. Davey’s the same, and even quick, frenetic sex can’t settle them down. They have a shower and get back into bed naked.

Still, the butterflies circle in her stomach, and she gives voice to their anxious questions. “How did you know you wanted to marry me?”

“I loved you as soon as I saw you,” Davey answers, but Eloise shakes her head.

“No, I know that,” she tells him, kissing him once, softly. “I mean, when did you decide to marry me? How’d you know that I was it, that we were gonna be together forever?”

“As soon as I saw you,” Davey repeats. He kisses her for emphasis, then tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Eloise Barrow, from the moment I met you, I knew I would do anything to keep you by my side. Every day I’m happier than I was the day before, and that’s because of you. I want to marry you because I can’t wait to see what the future holds. It’s like an adventure, a quest.”

“Like trying to find the holy grail,” Eloise chuckles, but she’s teary again, and her face is glowing with warmth.

“You’re worth ten times as much as that stupid old cup,” Davey tells her.

“You too,” she tries to say, but he’s kissing her again, holding her, his fingers splayed against her back. She closes her eyes and goes with it, lets him lead her through the sensations like she’s blindfolded on a roller coaster — up, down, around and around. She’s flying, and Davey’s all that grounds her. He always grounds her.

“Sorry,” he adds softly, when they come up for air.

“For what?” Eloise asks. She nibbles on his ear lobe, and he twitches, ticklish.

“For the spoilers,” Davey replies. “I told you what I’m gonna say tomorrow. A big part of it, anyway.”

“I thought it sounded kind of rehearsed,” Eloise teases. “I forgive you.”

“Thanks,” says Davey dryly. He kisses her once more, then flops back against his pillow. “Sleepy?”

Eloise smiles wickedly. “Not just yet,” she says. She climbs on top of him and turns out the lamp.

* * *

The morning is a blur. Eloise is at the hair salon with Patti at 8:30, and it feels like no time at all until they’re getting into the car to head to city hall.

“Last chance for a church wedding,” Patti says as they pass St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“Ugh, no,” Eloise groans, but she’s laughing, too. “Had my fill of church.”

Patti squeezes her hand. She’s been Eloise’s closest friend since those days of isolation, when the preacher would only let her hang out with congregants’ kids every other Friday. Patti’s mom sang in the choir, she went with Eloise to the hospital when Davey got hit by that car. Eloise stayed with them when she was going to school. Simply put, Patti is family — more family than the criminals who kidnapped her as a child — and Eloise is so grateful to have her, today and always.

She barely gets a moment to think after that. They check in to city hall, take the elevator to the fourth floor, wait while the previous couple finishes up. Once the room is empty, the guests file in, and Eloise sees them — the Mountie in his bright red uniform, the two Chicago cops in suits and ties, one obviously designer and the other obviously not.

Vecchio winks at Eloise as she and Davey go up the aisle; Fraser beams beside him, and on the other side of the room, Kowalski’s grinning, too.

Davey’s looking at her like she hung the stars while the officiant welcomes everyone, which is ridiculous, since Eloise knows he hung the sun. She fumbles through her vows, and she thinks that maybe her accent comes back a little at the end, but she knows that Davey won’t mind.

For his part, he recites his lines perfectly, and even after hearing most of it last night it’s too much — Eloise has to look away, just for a second to blink the tears out of her eyes. And that’s when she sees Fraser looking across the aisle at Kowalski, who’s looking right back. Their eyes are shiny, too.

“Like trying to find the holy grail,” Davey adds, and Eloise laughs quietly.

“You’re worth a lot more than a dumb old cup,” she says, too low for the audience to hear.

The officiant grins. Only minutes later, she pronounces them married, and they’re out of there.

Leaving city hall, Eloise is giddy and light like there’s a hot air balloon lifting her feet off the ground. While the guests head to the hotel, the wedding party poses for pictures in the park where Eloise took Davey on his first day out of the hospital all those years ago. Davey hams it up, makes a big show out of carrying Eloise over the little footbridge, and Eloise hopes that the photographer managed to capture a great angle of them laughing.

Dinner is a small but raucous affair in a hotel conference room. The caterers serve the best Southern food in Chicago. She and Davey have a private table, and the food’s brought out family style, so it’s just like eating at home, only with a lot more people and a handful of embarrassing speeches.

They circle the room mid-meal and greet everyone, and Fraser wraps Eloise up in another tight hug when she gets to his table. His wool tunic is scratchy against her cheek, but she wouldn’t dream of pulling away.

Fraser doesn’t say a word about how she tricked him — she assumes Vecchio really did smooth it over — but when Vecchio makes a comment about the last part of Davey’s vows, he coughs and tugs at his collar. His cheeks turn slightly pink, and his eyes are on the other side of the room again. Eloise doesn’t have to turn around to know who he’s looking at; she and Vecchio share a knowing smile.

“You were right, that’s definitely not the same guy,” Davey says in an undertone as they’re walking away.

“Told you,” Eloise exclaims in a whisper.

“How did they fool everybody for so long?” Davey goes on. “They look nothing alike!”

Eloise just laughs.

Kowalski shakes a finger at her when they arrive at his table in turn. “That was some dirty pool you and Vecchio played, getting us both here,” he scolds her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eloise replies primly.

“Uh huh,” says Kowalski, skeptical. But he hugs her anyway, and gives Davey one of those manly half-handshake half-hug things. “How’s it going, kid?” he asks. “You staying out of trouble?”

“Trying to,” Davey tells him. He slings an arm around Eloise’s waist and pulls her close. “Got the girl, that helps.”

“It sure does,” says Kowalski. He glances away, his smile dims a little. “It sure does.”

They chat for a few minutes longer, and then Davey and Eloise have to carry on. Eloise found out from Vecchio that Kowalski can dance, so she tells him she’s expecting him on the dance floor later, and then she leaves, pretending she doesn’t hear his protests.

* * *

After dinner and dessert, after the first dance, Eloise slips out of the conference room to use the restroom, smiling politely at the guests who say hello as she goes by.

She’s stopped short on the way back by the sound of voices in the stairwell. She freezes, hesitant to eavesdrop, and then she hears her name and recognizes the speaker.

“—only here for Eloise and Davey,” says Kowalski. “If I’d known you were coming, I—”

“I know, Ray,” Fraser replies. “And I’m sorry. I promise you I had no part in this scheme.”

“I believe you. Ben,” Kowalski adds, his voice hushed like a prayer. “I think maybe I wasn’t fair to you. Maybe—”

“No,” Fraser cuts him off. “No, you were right. I wasn’t listening to you, I wasn’t sensitive to your needs. I acted with my head and not my heart, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. Eloise holds her breath.

“Was that hard to say?” Kowalski asks.

“I may have practiced in front of the mirror a few times,” Fraser admits.

It’s a strange image, to think of Fraser unraveled and anxious, rehearsing words in his bathroom. Words that he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to say if Eloise hadn’t brought him here. She feels warmed by that.

“Those kids up there,” Kowalski says, like he can read her mind, “talking about love at first sight, and marriage as an adventure. How come they got it all figured out? They’re half our age!”

Fraser chuckles. “They are surprisingly perceptive,” he says.

Eloise isn’t sure if she should take that as a compliment or not.

“Well, I’m sorry,” says Kowalski after another moment of silence. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I still love you, you know. Even when....”

“I know,” Fraser replies quietly. “And I you, Ray.”

Kowalski doesn’t say anything, but Eloise hears a rustle of movement, and, a second later, the soft wet sounds of kissing.

It takes everything in her not to jump up and down with joy. She keeps her mouth closed tight as she walks away, but there’s a definite spring in her step, and as soon as she’s far enough to know they won’t hear her, she pumps the air with her fist and does a quick twirl in the hall, just for fun.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispers. To God, maybe, or the universe. She’ll take whoever might be listening.

When she gets back to the reception hall, Davey lights up and pulls her to the dance floor. Laughing, she goes. They do the macarena in a line with Davey’s younger cousins, then the song changes to something slower, and Davey pulls her into his arms.

“Good day?” he asks under the music.

Eloise nods. “Best day.”

“Perfect,” says Davey. He holds her tight, and Eloise rests her head on his shoulder.

When the song ends, she catches sight of Fraser and Kowalski sneaking back into the room holding hands. The DJ starts another song — slow still, but with a beat made for dancing. Kowalski raises his eyebrows at Fraser, and Fraser folds into him, letting Ray lead him around the dance floor.    

Eloise catches sight of Vecchio by the DJ booth, and Vecchio nods. Eloise beams at him.

“Well, what do you know,” Davey says, laughing. “You can still work miracles.”

Eloise shakes her head, but she feels that joy again, warm and rippling through her. “Guess we just had to have a little faith.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Dreamwidth](https://mrs-d.dreamwidth.org/). I promise I don't quote the Bible often.


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